Saturday, 24 May 2014

It's been a busy couple of months, and I've not been doing a good job of keeping you current on what I've been up to. It's hard to believe that I've already come and gone from Chamonix. I can say with certainty that France is a very glorious country, and Chamonix might just be the crown jewel. It may have helped that I finally got to be with Colin again -- he'd been in France since March 11. The time flew by but there was much laughter, good food, friends, and of course, mountains. I'll tell you more about it when I finally find the time.

But, in the meantime, I wanted to share a link to the most recent edition of the MEC Outsider's Journal they've titled, Pursuit. As with the last edition, I contributed to the journal. Here's a link to my story, The End.

I wrote a longer version to the article linked above, so I also figured I'd share the long version as well, -- just in case you're bored one day and don't feel like watching TV. Unfortunately, I don't have time to include very many photos, but I promise my next post will be photo heavy from my time in France.

Happiness.

Sarah

The End.

As I write
this, I’m sitting out a stuffy Air Canada flight bound for Vancouver after another
Patagonia season has come to a close. This was my fourth trip. I think I’m
beginning to form a habit. But this time, as I reflect on the season, I do so
with trepidation. This was to be the last adventure in my two-year hiatus from
reality. Recall if you will, I quit my full-time desk-job in June 2012 and
made a promise to myself to climb until the bank account ran dry.

The bank
account has run dry. So, as I put pen to paper for this little season recap, I
ponder how these next few months, and years, will play out. Two years seemed an
eternity away as I packed my life into boxes and moved out of my apartment in
Squamish at the start of my journey. How quickly will the rains of the coastal
home I’m returning to wash away the memories I’ve accumulated over these two
years? Am I the same person?

At least
with certainty, I can say that this season, I’ve become a better ice climber.

This
Patagonian season was not exceptional by any stretch. Riding on the heels of
last seasons near perfect weather, I had visions of doing high-fives on the
summit of Fitz Roy after climbing 35 pitches of warm granite while wearing a
tank top. Authors note, Patagonia is never so civil as to allow safe passage
to its summits with merely a tank top on, but it was a nice fantasy all the
same. Instead, this season my skin barely saw the sun, I had sharp objects
strapped to my hands and feet every time I went climbing, and I didn’t get to
wear the dress I’d packed at all!

In a range
of mountains known for some of the worst weather conditions in the world,
Patagonia really shone this year. The winds blew ferociously. They blew at
night, they blew during the day, they blew in the sun, they blew in the rain,
and they blew in the snow. The wind is the Patagonian alpinist’s worst enemy.
For the first time in my life I witnessed ropes thrown in preparation to make a
rappel, not fall down the mountain at all, but rather blow directly horizontal
into the void.

When it
wasn’t blowing hard enough to rattle one’s grasp of sanity, it was raining
biblically. The rains would soak us down low in town, but when the clouds
raging around the mountain summits finally cleared, it revealed whole mountain
faces covered in snow, plastered there like spray on Styrofoam, by the blasting
winds.

Climbing
became an act of shear determination. In two months, there was not a single day
offered up to the alpinist that was sunny, and free wind. So, we buckled down
and prepared for battle every time we headed into the mountains.

I was not
born to be an alpine climber. I come from southern Ontario. My fingers get cold
easily, and ice scares me. So, in a season befitted to the hardened alpinist, I
was finding small successes by summoning the courage to go climb the now snow
and ice covered mountains. Each successful ascent considered an SFA, otherwise
known as a Sarah First Ascent.

On one
particularly marginal good weather window, Colin, my hardened alpinist
boyfriend, and I headed into the hills. Colin wanted to solo an ice route that
had recently come into condition on the east face of Aguja Guillaumet, go
figure, and I wanted to climb Guillamet’s classic Amy Couloir.So, we formulated a plan to make the most of
the tiny weather window. We’d wake at 2:30 am from our bivouac below the
mountains, hike to a high pass, where I’d put on every piece of clothing
available, and wait while Colin climbed his route. He’d then descend the
mountain, return to the pass where I was huddled in a cave waiting for him, and
I’d take the sharp end and lead us up the Amy Couloir. Seemed reasonable enough
to me?

So, as the
sun rose, I kissed Colin goodbye and watched him march across the glacier, a
lone figure in a sea of snow and crevasses. Colin solos a lot, so this is a
feeling I am becoming accustomed to, but it’s still an odd emotion, watching
your loved one walk off into the white void, alone.

But, like
clockwork, two hours later, from my perch I could make out a small figure down
climbing to the bergshrund below the east face of Guillaumet. By the speed at
which this figure was down climbing the steep snow, I knew it could only be one
person, Colin. By 11:00 am we were roping up to head back up Guillaumet for my
turn. It felt awesome to stand on the summit after leading us up the mountain
in full winter conditions, climbing the whole route in crampons and boots. This
was a big win for this wimpy sport climber, and another SFA!

After
waiting out another week of horrendous weather, Colin and I hiked back into the
mountains, this time to try a little known peak skirting the edge of the vast Patagonian
ice cap, named Aguja Volonqui. The mountain had yet to see a full ascent to
it’s summit, and on a previous visit to this part of the range, Colin had spied
a climbable looking ice chimney splitting the mountains northwest face.

I was
getting used to summoning all the give’r I had to go climbing in the little windows
of weather Patagonia was offering up. So it was no surprise to me when our
alarm went off at 2:30 am, and the wind was howling. We began our trudge up the
glacier to the base of the chimney regardless, hoping that the winds would
abate a little as we climbed.

Graciously,
Patagonia allowed us smooth passage as we climbed the narrow ice chimney to the
snowfields below the summit. And, as we descended from the summit, I
congratulated myself on another successful SFA, climbing with crampons and ice
axes the whole way. Perhaps I’m beginning to like climbing with all these dangerously
sharp objects strapped to my appendages?

The
remainder of my Patagonia season continued on in much the same way, digging
deep in the wind and rain, and finding satisfaction in climbing the “little
guys” of the massif.

Now, there’s
a house waiting for me in Squamish. My friends, and new roommates, Susie and
Eric have been moving my stuff in. And, I’ve been talking to a potential
employer, and things are sounding very promising. Never in my wildest dreams
did I think I’d have a house and a job waiting for me when I was ready to step
back into real life. I am very lucky. As the plane takes me further and further
from my Patagonian home, I can feel my focus shifting. I’m looking forward now.
The future is whatever I make it.

Mountain Equipment Co-op

Petzl

Scarpa

Julbo Eyewear

About Me

I have a penchant for wanderlust that has been fueled by my nearly twelve-year dedication to the sport of rock climbing. I am driven to push my limits climbing, whether it be plastic holds at the small climbing gym in my hometown of Squamish, BC, granite boulders scattered throughout the forest, steep limestone cliffs, or 1000 metre tall granite towers.

I can be counted among those that “work to live”, not the other way around. My biggest fear in life, outside of falling into a crevasse, is fear of regret. In my circle of friends this is often called FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), and FOMO has taken me many amazing places. Though I struggle to see why, some have expressed interest in staying current on where “running from regret” takes me.

So without further adieu I would like to introduce, “As It Happens – the wanderings and musing of Sarah Hart”. I hope you enjoy it…